well-dressed foolish ideas

A collage of randomness:

I'm so sorry for freaking out on you yesterday. Forgive me? Please?

Salons should never be called Irene. Salon Irene. Ha! If that happens, they are definitely not allowed to be on a street where I often travel by public transport. Having Come on Eileen stuck in your head all day can do you in. I so would not lie about this.

I heard a fascinating story about a study done after world war ii today, but unfortunately, my google skills are the suck, and I can't find proof that it actually was a study. Nonetheless... The fun summary. Apparently the American GI's all liked the idea of a British girlfriend and therefore went out of their way to find, meet and otherwise be entertained by the British women. In the states, it's not uncommon for a date to end with a goodnight kiss. This is, and has been, normal and not forward in any sense of the word. Apparently, at the time of the war, good night kisses were a tiny step away from a romp in the bedroom for a British girl. So here we had American troops thinking that all the British girls were easy, considering for every goodnight kiss they got, the girl would disrobe and jump into bed, and we had all the British women thinking that American men were incredibly forward and stupendously fast. All the while each wondered what in the world was wrong with the other.

Well, fine, but I found it fascinating.

You know when you like something and you know that no matter how hard you try to explain the coolness and awesomeness that it is that no one will get it? Despite all of your best efforts? Every single one of them?

Yeah, that's how I feel.

There's no such thing as too much kitten love. Ever.

Especially when they haven't mastered the joy of retracting their claws.

I'm smiley. And I'm giddy.

And I like it.
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I'm so motherfucking happy today about so many things in my life that I just spent the past 20 minutes dancing around my living room. Naked.

Oh yeah.
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Things I've learned while lounging on the couch being sick pathetic:

Sea slugs are hermaphrodites, as well as naturally occurring bisexuals.

They participate in orgies a lot.

Bullfrog males dig escape routes for their young tadpoles when they get stuck in a dried up water hole.

Tadpoles look incredibly, and scarily, like sperm.

Seahorses give birth to about 100 young. At one time. Ow. Thankfully it's the males that give birth. And that's the last thing the male seahorse does.

Asian Musk shrews chew on each other's ass in order to not get lost when traveling a long (read a couple meters) distance.

Humans are apparently the strangest animal as we apparently have odd courtships and offspring relationships. Not that I would know anything about that.
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Two weekly links this week, because I couldn't resist.
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I sound like a frog. I slept 16 hours.

I fear I might be coming down with something. But maybe I'm just overreacting.

I'm off to make more tea, as it makes me think I might be getting better, faster.
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Whoever it is that is in charge of these kinds of things, can you make Saturday a little longer?

And specifically because it would be nice, can you also make the shops stay open a bit longer in Vienna on Saturdays? Say about.... until 10 at night? Is that too much?

Thanks ahead of time. You're a doll.
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I'm going to be cliché and shower the blog entry with thanks and love today. Don't hold it against me for being unimaginative. (You should totally be used to it by now.)

First and foremost, everyone, be thankful for the men and women in the armed services. They deserve more than thanks and respect. They deserve to be shown respect by everyone, regardless of political affiliation or philosophies. They deserve proper benefits, proper salaries, proper medical assistance. The ones that sacrifice their lives deserve to be remembered every single day. They deserve everything good and more.

My family doesn't have any kind of traditional "I'm thankful for..." speeches at dinner, but I'm especially thankful for the following:

• My immediate family is healthy and in decent shape after a rough couple of months.


• The fact that I'm happier with my life now than I was at the beginning of the year.


• My understanding friends.


• My cool and entertaining co-workers.


• My playful kitten - even with the climbing of the leg.


• Dinners in the company of good people.


• Sunshine in winter.


• Cologne.


• Scarves!


• Brilliant jokes and hearty laughs that make everyone present giggle.


• Not working crazy hours all summer long.


• Packages in the mail.


• Being able to sit in my flat, alone and happy, relaxing on the weekends.


• Digital cameras that are constantly available to capture comical and heartwarming moments.


• Snow!


• Walks in Vienna. At night. In the snow.


• Knee-high boots.


• Over-the-knee socks. (Hot!)

Most of all, I'm thankful that life is in progress.


To all of you Americans... Happy Thanksgiving! Have some mashed potatoes and gravy for me, please! (Oh, how I miss mashed potatoes and gravy on my mom's china in her dining room.)

To all of the non-Americans... Well... Happy Thanksgiving, too! Hope your Thursday leaves you giddy.
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When I'm wrong, I say I'm wrong. So lately I've been wrong about a few things. I thought I should list the things I've been wrong about. And I'll continue to be cryptic enough that you won't have a clue what I'm talking about. (It's fun for me.)

I should have answered the phone when you called, Frank. But I eventually did... a few months later. Luckily everything's okay. Sorry about that.

I should have called you, Frank. I know things totally sucked for a while there. I know things suck again. I should have been a better friend. I just didn't know what to do, what to say or how to be. I couldn't get out of the middle without getting out of your life. Sorry about that.

I should talk to you, Frank. I should be able to tell you what's going on in my life lately. I shouldn't have to hide things from you. I shouldn't have to only tell you half the story. I shouldn't have told you the things I told you - life never works out the way I envision. I shouldn't have shared the vision. I'm sad that it won't happen the way I envision it. And I'm scared about how it actually will happen. Sorry.

If you're a Frank, I'm sorry. Really, I am.


In other news - More things I was wrong about...

All men are not pigs. This was shocking news to me. So I had to share.

Romance is, in fact, alive. Still breathing.
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I just wanted to let you know that I fully expected to be smiling tonight. And I wish it was so, but it's not the case.

I guess it's good to want things.
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I have every intention of writing a legible entry at some point very soon, I'm just currently being clawed, chewed, and meowed to death. It's fine until she starts chewing on my nose. Contrary to popular belief, I do have limits.
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Ask some guy I know why it is that I'm blogging about this. He has his reasons, of which I don't know or understand.

Of the desserts in my life, I'd claim cheesecake to be my favorite. Better yet if it's white chocolate cheesecake with a raspberry topping and chocolate crust. But I've yet in my life to like/have the following:

Creme brulee - I've never seen the appeal. And to be honest, it's so damn small! But mostly I've never had it due to lack of opportunity.

Tiramisu - The entire idea of 'ladyfingers' in a dessert creeps me out. Who wants to eat ladyfingers? What's wrong with you people? BLECH!

Sacher torte - As popular and famous as it may be, I cannot stand it. Cakes and desserts in Austria are so dry that I just can't be bothered with sweets here.

fruit compote - Of any kind it's just fruit that's been warmed. And usually dried fruit at that. Thanks, but no thanks.

Onto other topics:

The naughtiest thing I've ever done... This is a tough one. I'm not sure which definition of naughty we're going for but I'll venture a guess and say something cheesy like sex in a public toilet or sex on a car parked at the entrance to a movie theater. I'd go into detail but I'm certain I'm the only one interested.

Things that sweep me off my feet... Looks that I know are just for me. A brushing touch that no one but me notices because it's so subtle. An innocent statement that means something entirely different to everyone else in the room but me. Encouragement when I'm feeling less than I could. Kind words to pick me up when I'm not down, but certainly not up. A tender touch at the nape of my neck or along my collar bone.

Not that anyone would recognize, or know particularly why, but my dad was my hero. He still kind of is. He suffered through alot, in the face of everyone telling him that he should have only had 4 weeks to live when it was at least a year and a half later that he died. Besides him, I look to a friend of mine. She's got a heart of gold, knows how to use it and suffers the consequences bravely. She's a fighter and does what she wants, without regard to consequences and adversity. I think there are a multitude of women in public life that inspire me, and a number of men that are equally as influential. Choosing one is so difficult. I like bravery and courage. I like self-assuredness and integrity. I think honesty and hope are admirable. I believe that steadfastness and humor are vital to life. So choosing someone, just one person is nearly impossible.

I'm only ticklish in one place. Stay the hell away from my feet.
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I'm still alive, and amazingly not hungover. Maybe tell ya about it later, eh?

That is all.
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I thought I'd already stopped with the politics posts for a while, this one... I couldn't resist.

I shall endeavor to refrain in the future, but I have much love for Canadians, and I'd like to humbly ask that they consider the idea a bit!

Thanks to Udge for the pointer.
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Chit chat in the office is usually pretty calm. Pretty cool. Pretty collected. But bring up the topic of romance and whether it's alive or dead and the gloves come off! One of our new guys - an adorable lil bloke who giggles a lot and cracks jokes every chance he can - is of the mind that romance is definitely alive and well.

He's also young. But that shouldn't discount his opinion in any way! Smart lil kid, I'd call him, save for the fact that well... I can't really compliment him otherwise he's gonna start to expect that kind of behavior from me and that's just not acceptable. To me. I can't possibly let the guy think that I'm usually nice. It would likely bother him when he comes to learn the truth - I'm a frigid bitch. But that's for another day.

So, romance. I don't know a lot of romantic guys. Wait, no, it's that I don't date a lot of romantic guys. Or at least, I haven't really dated a lot of romantic guys in my time. There's loads of really nice, terribly sweet, and incredibly kind things that my exes have done that some may call romantic. I'm not completely ungrateful or bitter. It's just that my exes tended towards not really making a great effort to be romantic. And so that it's clear that I have no room to complain (which I'm attempting to - probably unsuccessfully - avoid doing), it's not like I'm the queen of romance. That doesn't mean that I don't like to be romanced or to romance someone. I've just gotten into the habit of not bothering.

But let's be open and honest here. Men and women have completely different ideas of romance and what's romantic. I know that the last time I can remember being wined and dined and romanced was ten years ago. And I got flowers, to boot. There aren't a whole lot of official 'dates' in my life. There's very little 'courting' going on. And, perhaps it's just me, but the whole idea of courting a woman is so romantic. It's a shame these days that women aren't that much of a challenge to men, since there's always another woman, lying in wait if you will, that is less 'difficult' to get, less of a challenge. And maybe I'm totally wrong. Maybe the general consensus with men is that women are still difficult, still a challenge. But it certainly doesn't look, feel or sound like it.

Equality is good. Being on the same playing field is good. But somehow the rise of one thing begins to eliminate another. I may have overstepped when I said that romance was dead. Perhaps it's barely breathing. But it's been getting smothered with protests and burning bras.

Thanks for the chat, M.
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Interviewee astride her horse - "If I can't hunt anymore, my life's just not worth living."

Ominous voiceover from newsperson to end the personal interest piece - "That's just how passionate fox hunting is."

Who knew?
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Want boots.

I would totally wear them every single day. With a skirt.

I would.
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I don't think I've adequately publicly adored Vienna and the winter that will be. In an effort to remedy this, I must state that I adore Vienna and the winter that will be.

Previously, I've been known to claim that autumn is my favorite season. I must revise. I like autumn, don't get me wrong. It's nice. There's a crisp chill in the air. Slight, yet brisk, breezes carry the scent of a burning fire in someone's fireplace. Warm coats are donned. Scarves are put to good use. The leaves go golden, crimson and flaming orange. It's pretty. In essence, however, the leaves are, in fact, dead. And they end up being the color of dead leaves - brown - by the time they hit the street or sidewalk. Not so pretty at that point.

But the glory that is autumn is, in my mind, the crisp, clean-feeling air, the slight breezes scented with warm and cozy fires swirling through the city, the bright, warm hues of the leaves, the scarves... oh the scarves. It's a nice time of year.

Usually.

What I would not count as the glory of the season is the pummelling winds threatening to knock anyone over should they be ignorant enough to brave the outside world, thinking that autumn is a gentle time of year.

Nonetheless, I endeavor to lavish upon Vienna all of my adoration for the city and the winter that will be. Because winter.... Winter is cool.
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I use the snooze button on my alarm clock. Why not use the standard buttons on such electronics? I lounge in bed in the morning. Why? Because damnit it's cold outside the covers. And I'm a weenie. I think I may have already mentioned that once or twice.

The blinds in my bedroom are half up/half down, but they don't really stop any of the morning light from getting through my window. I never open them when I get out of bed. I just leave them halfway down/halfway up and am content to not destroy my poor, freshly opened eyes with destructive and blinding light from the outside world. At least, not until I've clothed myself and leave my flat.

When I was younger, I used to have one of those keep every bit of light from penetrating this window shades. I loved it. I mean, I really loved it. Pure black rooms are easier to sleep in. When it was about the right time of the morning for me to get out of bed, my mother would crack open the door, turn on the light, and quickly close the door behind her, knowing full well that there was some kind of object hurtling towards the door.

To go from pure, pleasant black to blinding yellow light... It's hell. It's torture. It's completely uncalled for.

So is a kitten climbing me like Mount Everest in the morning while I put her food in her food bowl. And she leaves marks. Cute. Somehow. But a little uncalled for.
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Please don't let it be freezing cold outside.
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I just wanted to tell you that I'm usually not very good in the mornings, but today... Today I'm smiling. And meaning it.

That is all.
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Please adore the hell out of Thad and his babies. (This week's link.)

Go.

Now.

Commence "Awwwww"-ing.

I command thee.
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There are nights when I just want to be left alone. To have time to myself. No matter where I am - at home in my flat, out having drinks with friends, out to dinner with people that I don't spend nearly enough time getting to know....

Tonight is not one of those nights. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to sleep alone. But I can't change it, or make the inevitable not inevitable. I can't change people's minds or their plans for them. I can't make their decisions for them.

I just want attention that I can't have right now.

I went to a party tonight where most everything on the drink menu contained absinthe. And drank Gin and Vodka Gimlets all night. I put my hair in two braids because, damnit, I look adorable when I do that. I laughed, I giggled, I had serious discussions. And then I left. My kitten is throwing a small piece of bread around my living room floor, and I am sitting on the couch wishing someone else was here.

Maybe some other time.
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The best toy my kitten has found so far: her tail. I swear to you - hours of running in circles provides the little furball with profound amounts of entertainment.

That is all.
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My college roommate, Blue, and I had a few traditions that we kept up until the day we graduated. We'd spend Friday nights at friends' places, making dinner for about 8 usually, drinking a beer or two and watching movies. Saturdays were reserved for Normal Street Bar or Joe's Bar.

Normal Street provided the largest menu of varied Long Island Iced Teas I've ever seen in my entire life. And the teas were served in unbelievably large quantities - bigger than your average pint of beer, probably mid-sized between a mass of beer (1 liter) and a half liter. They were like death in a glass, and named things such as "Giant Long Islands" which looked and tasted nothing like your traditional Long Island and "Adios Motherfucker" which I always considered to be a very telling name for a cocktail. I'd comment on the flavor of the Adios Motherfucker, but truth be told, I never had one.

Normal was a meat market disguised as a bar, and I can't remember a single night when Blue or I didn't hear one of the worst pick up lines of our lives. "Nice shoes, wanna fuck?" "Was your daddy a thief? Because I think he stole the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes." "I lost my phone number, can I have yours?" In a college town, this is more than expected and provided us with countless hours of entertainment. We rarely spent a night at Normal without meeting up with some of our guy friends whom we both thanked on numerous occasions for being our temporary boyfriends to stave off the frat boys clamoring for a lay from any girl in the bar with a heartbeat. But it was one of the best places to people watch, and for that fact alone, we upheld the tradition of Saturday nights starting at Normal.

We'd often make our way the 3 or 4 blocks to Joe's after Normal. Much more laid back and with far less tea choices, Joe's was one of the best known bars in town. They spread sawdust on the floor, served peanuts which you were expected to shell and then toss the shells on the floor, played the most random music from an antique-looking jukebox and offered a back patio where we'd often congregate to play Mexicali. Or Liar's Dice. With pitchers of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.

The last time I played Liar's Dice, I was in Tunisia with my entire office on a weekend trip. And we weren't playing with pitchers of beer as I was used to playing Liar's Dice with, we were playing with schnapps. The next day I woke up, had breakfast and spent some time on the beach with a few other people before getting on the plane with all of my co-workers to return to Vienna.

And looking back, the memories are pleasant enough. They just feel hollow. They just leave me wanting something. Something different. And a little bit more...
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Sunsets were always really one of my favorite times of the day, but more than that, a sunrise always got to me. I used to drive to a hilltop before sunrise, hop onto the hood and watch as the tendrils of the sun curled their way across the sky in crimsons, oranges, pinks and violets, sneaky fingers caressing the world awake. The colors of marmalades spilling across the sky. So bright, so fresh. Serenity and calm overlapping and blanketing my small sleepy hometown with quiet morning. A gentle awakening. For a gentle place.


However, I have to admit that moonrises and moonsets, if there is such a word, strike me most. Somehow the moon and nightsky has a pull on me. It's inexplicable, at least in words. The moon and stars tempt me, somewhat tauntingly, but more encouragingly. "Reach higher," they seem to say. "Set your goals with us," they whisper to me.

For those that don't know me personally (or even those that do and are not yet aware), I have a tattoo on my ankle of a crescent moon and star. About 2 years before I got the tattoo done, I have a distinctly sharp image in my memory that served as inspiration for the tattoo.

I was leaving my mom's house - 17 years old and on my way, at just about twilight, to drink coffee until 2 in the morning with people that I saw all the time. I got to the end of the street, and after performing a proper California stop (roll-through), turned right. And what lay in front of me in the sky was a perfectly centered, perfectly framed by trees on both sides of the street, crescent moon and a twinkling star literally hanging from the bottom tip of the moon. I stopped my car, got out and sat on the hood for a good few minutes, just looking at it. Just remembering it - committing it to memory. The twinkle of the star, the exact hue of the blue twilightened sky. The bright white surface of the moon, in such stark contrast to the darkened leaves and trees reaching out from their perches alongside the road.

When I got home at 2 that morning, I still had the image of the moon and star burned into my brain. I could still see it. And I remember 2 hours later being awakened by my mom, taking my dad to the hospital. Saying goodbye to him a mere few hours before he left this world.

And every time I take that turn when I'm in the States, I can still see the moon in my field of vision. It's crystal clear. Hanging in the sky, bright, full of promise and beautiful. Just thinking about it, I have to smile.
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Firstly, congrats to Thad, Andie and their new bouncing baby boy.


Rather than recount most of the hours of the past three days, I'll hit up the highlights, sparing the dramatic laziness that I've accomplished with absolute flair. Meet Mia.

Besides that, I've got little more to say for now. Hope everyone had a good weekend. I'll dream up a story soon.
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But I really can't help myself.

The Left Learns from Goldwater - Good article. Take a look.

The Russians have something to say.

And the one that I enjoyed the most...
Half of Americans have one thing to say to the rest of the world.
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I tried to stop myself. I tried. Please, believe me.

Looks like I'll be staying in Austria until at the earliest 2009! It's a good thing I like this place. Seriously. But I do have to say to whomever it is that's in charge of these kind of things... There's gonna have to be at least one white Christmas in my life before then.

I'm struggling to think of another good thing. Aside from the obvious benefits of staying in Austria - location, healthcare, vacation time, constitutionally neutral state (Article 9a), snow in winter, pension, autumn where some leaves turn colors before they fall off the tree, location... And wouldn't it be nice if a grocery store would be open on Sunday or after 7 pm? Let a girl dream.

And then there's obviously the benefit of providing a safe haven for visiting friends and family, should - you know - they need to escape a draft or something.

Plus, there's the fact that Jon Stewart will be provided with material to continue to be the funny man that he is. This is hugely important.

It looks like the US will get at least one, if not two, new Supreme Court Justices in the next 4 years. Chief Justice too! Double edged sword there.

Hilary and Obama in 2008?

New minority leader in the Senate. Change is good, right? Sorry, this one's another double edged sword.

Stem Cell Research - voted IN! California, let me just tell you right now how much I love you.


Boxer's keeping her seat. Because California, you're all about the love for all things not Grand, not Old, and not Party. Except districts 2, 3, 4, 11, 19, 21, 22, 24, 25, 26, 40, 41, 42, 44, 45, 46, 48, 49, 50 and 52. You all are Party people. You get no love from me. None!

And a few other good things, according to a certain unnamed Dutch man that I happen to know:

1. Kittens
2. Creme brulee
3. Tickling
4. People you don't know falling on their faces
5. Small yapping dogs being maltreated

But to be honest - I only agree with him on points 1, 2 and of course 4 (I kid! I kid! It's better when you know them.). After all these years, I'm still not ticklish. But everybody loves small yapping dogs, and detests the maltreatment of any animal. Unless you're Dutch. Then you just ride your bike everywhere. Over dogs. And curbs.

So you see, there's light at the end of the 4 more years tunnel. It's likely to be a reversed Roe v. Wade future, but what can ya do?

Take heart. It's only 4 more years. We're halfway there. Today, the glass is half full. Or it was until I got thirsty.

Sorry 'bout that.
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Three words. De Ja Vu.

And now for something completely different.

In an effort of distraction (and really, it's a massive effort for me), I read my horoscope. Folks, November rocks for me. Because everything in the horoscope, it's true. It always is! Always. Thankfully, I'll still be articulate with my opinions. This has never - ever - been a weak point for me. The kicker is that I'll be intelligently articulate. This is a whole new world. A rarity, if you will. I can't wait!

Except, usually forecasts aren't all that accurate. As we've all seen today.
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I know when I've been talking with my British co-workers very often when I start writing rubbish. Both in context and using the actual word in daily conversation.

What's next? I'll start spelling things wrong? Like coloUr or realiSations?
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I need that t-shirt.
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I need an education in logic. I need an education in reason. And I need an education in how to tuck away emotions and tuck away any feelings that I've ever felt - been afraid of because they may be difficult to identify, difficult to own, difficult to stand up and say "Fuck yeah, that's how I feel.", and difficult to wallow in. I have absolutely no idea how people do it. How do they not feel anything? How do they not want to feel anything? Is it a conscious choice? Is it some kind of skill that some other people just lack, or just don't get? Because I know some who can tuck it all away. Like it doesn't fucking matter. At all. But, pray tell, how do they do it? And is it even worth it? To teach yourself how to not feel anything?

I've never been able to compartmentalize emotions and logic. Feelings and reason. Irrational and rational. I feel myself slipping into loneliness when I try to ignore how I feel. I'm in self-inflicted isolation. Despair crowds my daily life. It's like a San Francisco fog that hangs heavily, abating only when outside forces banish it. And when it clears, there's a number of different roads to travel.

But why do you do that? Self inflicted fog that is pea-soup thick. What good does it serve? I'm asking. Genuinely.
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If you're an American citizen in the States today, please visit your polling place.

If you're an American citizen not in the States, please tell me you sent in an absentee ballot.

You're not allowed to complain in the next four years if you haven't cast a vote. That's a new rule. And I'll hold you to it.

On a side note, I miss "I voted." stickers.
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I once got a card that had a poem on the cover. I just found it.


I
could
sit
and
write
about
what
I've
been
doing.

How boring.

I
could
tell
you
the
places
I've
been.

How mundane.

I
could
tell
you
about
people
I've
met.

They're not you.

And
then
I
could
sit
and
cry
and
tell
you
that

I miss you with all of me.
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We are what we do. Or so they say.
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I've gone and messed with the links again. Although the list is half of the real list right now, aren't you curious what I'm reading?
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It's not really true what they say because sometimes, just sometimes, fantasies do come true. I took a bath yesterday, and because I was kind of pressed for time, it was way, way too short. To remedy this, I'm going to take another one tonight, shortly after I finish blabbering here. And there will be lavender bath salts. Lavender. Such a wonderful scent.

I need a little relaxation after the long weekend. I was privileged enough to enjoy a very nice dinner last night with a friend I have seen only rarely as of late. We had good food, fun discussions, and an enjoyable beer-towards-the-end-of-the-meal, which carried over into an after dinner drink. After we went our separate ways, I joined a few friends at a pub for a couple of beers.

We attempted to avoid topics of discussion such as religion and politics. We narrowly escaped politics a couple of times and went back to talking about much more practical things. Like mongolian clusterfucks, and for some reason the logistics of them. This was, however, not the highlight of the discussions that we had. The highlights were good, fun, laughter evoking jokes made about so many topics.

The aversion to politics was at my request, as I had spent the afternoon attempting to watch a news program that had nothing to say about the elections this week in the States. I could not believe the insistence of the media at shoving the elections down their viewers throats. After a couple of hours waiting for any weather report - which was supposedly scheduled on a number of channels at various times but were never actually aired - I gave up and watched a dvd.

Shockingly, Halloween isn't the costume-evoking holiday in Austria that it is in the States, so I found myself plainclothed all day. The last time I donned a costume, I was still at university, and I threw myself into a beer wench costume, complete with two beer steins hanging from my belt - at the ready for fresh nectar. There's nothing like a beer wench on the arm of the Hulk walking around downtown in Chico (Yes, that's my alma mater.) with a group of friends. Ahh, that was a fun night. Until someone split a pumpkin over my fellow beer wench's head. Talk about a headache. Poor girl.


Oh, I updated the Weekly Link. This time, another poet. And the reason - inspiration from a woman (The one who shared the Breast Cancer link (under "Links" to the right...) with readers of her blog.) who published a lovely post about a week ago. Thanks for the idea, Tuna Girl.


While not a particularly strenuous day today, I'm beat. I'm going to finish my second glass of wine and take a swim in my tub for a good long while. Hope Halloween was enjoyable for those that celebrated. And All Saint's Day was also enjoyable for those that were blessed with a Monday off.
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